Blood and Flowers
by PinkWhirlWind
Summary: Weiss is hunting a serial attacker... who hunts them back. AyaYouji, third party non con, happily ever after
1. Default Chapter

Blood and Flowers

By Nix Winter

Disclaimers: I don't own WK

Warnings: non-con!, violence, yaoi, shonen ai, happily ever after

Extra warnings: I write too much WK. And this is just a teaser.

Youji's hands gripped the railing as if the music or shifting shadows of the club might make it disappear, might let him drop through the floor. Spine rigid, fear making macramé of his nerves, he was in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

"I know what you are," the voice said in his ear, dripping with sing songy insanity. "You can't catch me. I'm already dead."

They'd been tracking a serial rapist for nearly three months. They'd only become aware of there even being a rapist in Tokyo after one of their own agents had been violated. That agent had waited nearly three weeks before reporting the attack. Then they'd found eighteen more suspected victims. "You're not dead yet," Youji hissed, trying not to move as the barrel of a pistol pressed against the base of his skull. The man behind him pressed against him, obscenely excited by the feel of it.

"I know all about you, flower boy," the rapist purred, rubbing himself against Youji. "I know you're thinking about turning around and strangling me. I know what you're thinking because I'm undead. Now don't take your hands off the railing, pretty boy."

Gods, Omi should hear something in the communicator. Someone should hear something.

"I love when they wish there was some way out," the target said, leave a trail of warm and wet up Youji's ear. The pistol moved, so quickly, and there, against the black of Aya's shirt was a red dot, above his heart, where he sat the bar stool. "Turn around. Hold the railing. You're going to let me do anything, anything I want."

Aya glanced at his watch again. It had been twenty minutes since Youji had checked in. The target should have been in the club tonight. They'd been following the girl that they thought would be his next target. Aya hadn't let her out of his sight.

Youji and Aya had been a couple for nearly six months. The world was a good place again.

"Come to the back, out the side door," Ken hissed through the comlink. "It's not good."


	2. two

Blood and Flowers

By Nix Winter

Disclaimers: I don't own Wk...

Chapter Two

Aya had caused many traumas, much violence in his life. He'd fought with Youji, even as they were fighting against other people for their lives. Fighting with Youji, loving Youji, Aya had begun to find a balance and a harmony in his life again. Youji was the kind of lover that took everything a person could give, then some. Aya had done all kinds of things he'd ever even thought about doing before he'd met Youji.

Since they'd become lovers he'd even helped bleach that hair, secretly, pretending to the other two that it was natural. He'd helped Youji wash blood out of his hair as well, and maybe understood the reason for the bleach. As if bleach could clean anything. God, it was so much nicer to think about washing Youji's bloody hair than to be present in the alley. Aya's hand fell away from the doorknob, as he let the door bang closed.

It was not good.

Ken leaned against a grungy brick wall, leather coat and apathy out of place for the club, out of place for the alley. The side of his fist pressed against his forehead and Aya dismissed him mentally.

His own heart beat like a katana humming bird, lacerating his soul. Death he could dance with, head on, violent, raging, but this laid his soul open.

Omi stood before Youji, cell phone held in both hands. A surreal peace hung around them, a fog that Aya did not want to cleared away. There was just this moment, where he hadn't breathed yet, hadn't acknowledged that Youji wasn't just being doing something reckless.

Youji's bare feet stood on a pedestal with just enough room for the balls of his feet. Red trickled down shivering smooth legs like slow flowing black tears.

Aya's mind wanted to believe those couldn't be Youji's legs. Youji's legs were strong and elegant, powerful and always stealing the blankets, not shivering naked in an alleyway.

The flickering old yellow light above the door darkened the cross painted over a lean belly. A sharp scent of metallic salt haunted Aya; precious fluids now staining the alley. He staggered into a dangling fire escape ladder.

The rusted metal groaned, bending away from waking rage, touching Youji, as much as if Aya had called his name. His head lifted, blond hair, tawdry in the witnessing yellow light, fell back away from his face. Arms outstretched, held to the chain link wall by his own wires, he looked at Aya as if recognition were no longer something he could do. He held a grenade in either hand.

Aya stumbled over the world. As much protection as his Aya personality had been to him, it was deeper, older, Ran that caught him now. He was an historian, an accountant. Those thoughts went nowhere, but gave just enough cushion to allow him to cross to his bloodied, violated lover.

Sirens screamed, but Aya did not connect that those were for them. For Aya time had stopped. His angel hung from a wall of chains and Aya's believe in anything more distant that Youji's breathing body was illusionary. The world was simply that Youji lived still. Looking up, Aya reached out to touch that chest, to feel the movement for himself.

"Aya, get away," Youji whispered, eyes moving to look at one hand then the other.

Frozen, Aya's face went pale, undead granite, as a sense of failure stole his breath.

"Aya," Youji pleaded, "I can't hold them much longer."

"Aya-kun," Omi said, grabbing Aya's shoulder. "Don't! He's standing on a bomb."

Omi turned to Ken, as the stupor of shock finally let go of Weiss' leader. "Ken, you and Aya go home. The bomb squad is coming."

Aya arched an eyebrow, the movement an elegant 'shi ne'. Careful not to step in the rivulets of red, Aya moved closer. Red fury embodied, he squatted down and examined the tower Youji stood on.

"Baka," Youji snarled, "You don't know how to diffuse bombs. I want you to get away from here."

"There is enough here to demolish a block. We should warn the people in the club," Aya said, cold logical Aya. The bomb was very hard to look at, made his temples throb.

"I'm going to beat you senseless if you don't get the hell away from here," Youji threatened.

"That will be harder to do if you're dead," Aya said, emotionless. "We are leaving together. This bomb is fake."

"Aya! Don't touch it!" Omi begged.

Aya stood, violet eyes narrowed with fury. The 'bomb' was a wad of still wet paper mache and digital clock. This enemy moved right in line with Taketori. Decisive, Aya pulled a small ceramic blade from his jacket pocket, sliced the wire holding Youji's wrist. Youji fell forward and Aya caught him, arm around his back, lifting him as he sliced the other wire. His blade back in his pocket, Aya slipped an arm under Youji's knees and strode towards the end of the alley. "You have been compromised," he said to Omi. It wasn't an accusation, just a statement.

One of the grenades dropped from Youji's numb fingers. Ken ran forward, kicked it hard out into the street, where it spun, round and round, no more dangerous than a deflated soccer ball. Aya and Youji disappeared towards Youji's car, safely before the police arrived.


	3. three

Blood and Flowers

By Nix Winter

Disclaimer: I don't own WK, alas.

Notes: I'm so torn between original and fan fic, so I'm gonna do both and just go as it feels. It's not my intention to offend WK readers by making this over into an original. I love WK. goes back to playing now

Chapter Three

Manx had been waiting for them. They'd stood there, Aya holding Youji, eyes of violet kryptonite glaring at her. She'd bared the path, arms across her chest. The information gathering mission had been a failure and Youji needed medical treatment. It was reasonable, so reasonable. Aya hadn't had much more reasonable left in his soul. Youji needed a shower. Youji needed to rest.

Youji hadn't said anything, just holding to Aya's shirt with one fist, hiding in Aya's coat and Aya's embrace. Youji needed to be left alone, Aya had insisted.

Manx hadn't budged. Youji needed medical treatment. Kritiker needed DNA samples. And that's when Aya's low resources of reasonable evaporated.

Aya had woken up in a windowless waiting room, hands strapped to the arms of a wheelchair. Kritiker made his to kill list. And then his heart shattered with fear. Aya closed his eyes, refusing release to the tears stinging them. With all his being he wanted to refuse the knowledge that Youji had been raped, and then taken by Kritiker.

Literature, dreams, prose, they all swirled within Aya, the last shreds of a humanity tarnished. These last little pleasures sustained themselves in Youji's sarcastic and frayed light. Youji was dead. Aya could allow nothing else, as hope came with claws and pain. Rising from the literary ruins of his mind came a self that was all black demon, existing for death only.

"Aya-kun," Omi asked, head peeking in the door, one eye black and swollen. "Are you awake yet? We really need you."

Aya turned his head slowly, a headache flashing welcomingly over his scalp. Pain. The world turned upside down. Pain was good. Violet eyes opened slowly, just slits of sharp violet rage.

"Whoaa," Omi said. "Aya-kun. Are you really angry?"

"Shin ne," Aya mouthed and the door smacked shut.

Only a moment later, Omi opened the door again, and slipped inside. He'd changed from the clothes he'd worn to the club into just a pair of khaki shorts and tee-shirt. "Aya-kun, please there was a drug used at the club and Youji's overdosing. We have to get him the antidote, but..."

"Youji is alive?" God it hurt to have his heart restart, to admit the hurt, to back up from the living dead he'd been safely hidden in a moment before. "Youji's alive?"

Omi blew air into his cheeks and pointed at the black eye. "Youji-kun is having a hard time. We need your help. Please, Aya-kun, please trust me. You can try to kill me later, after we've helped Youji, okay?"

"I don't want to kill you," Aya said. It was true. He didn't want to kill Omi. Manx might be another matter though. "Free me. Explain the drug."

"It's a variant of truth serum, it makes the mind very open to suggestion. We think it's air borne, like a spray," Omi explained, freeing Aya's arms. "Ken and I only got a small dose when we got to the alley. You may have been given an even smaller dose. Ken, you, and I were given the antidote right away, or at least as soon as Manx could get to you here. Youji was given the antidote as well, but it hasn't worked as well on him. They don't want to sedate him, or add other drugs to his system. Please help him. He has to let the medical team do their job."

Aya stood, looking down at Omi, still feeling a bit in human. The rage and reason shifted on the scale, insanity balancing so precariously with hope and connection to Youji, to the other members of Weiss. "If they hurt him, I'll kill them."

"They don't want to hurt, Youji-kun. He's torn and bleeding. He's hurt really bad and they have to fix it. We want to catch the person who hurt him. We need to do a rape kit. We need photos and samples."

"No photos." Aya said, horrified by the idea of photos of Youji's battered body. "We're not going to the police."

"Well, we kind of are the police, or some of Kritiker is. Youji might be the only one to testify. We need," Omi stopped as Aya pushed by him.

"One does not try the dead," Aya hissed.

Omi bit the inside of his cheek and ran to catch up with Aya. Now wasn't the time to argue over justice and retribution, really. "He's this way."

In a small preparation room, just outside of the surgical suite Omi said Youji was in, Aya quietly changed into green paper scrubs. The sounds of struggling and crying were not something that Aya heard.

Victims don't report rape sometimes. It's like being in a car accident and knowing if you call for help, help will want to put you through some crash tests to see how it happened. Aya knew Youji's soul, as well as one can know a soul with rooms that never open. He knew Youji's way to pull away, to hide and lick his wounds. Youji was the white knight who went out and saved women, and other people who needed protecting, when people weren't looking. He was the hero with his heart on his sleeve and Aya loved him.

Opening the door to the surgery room was close to one of the hardest things Aya had ever done. Or maybe it just felt that way. He'd buried his parents and killed to pay for his sister's care, and he'd lost his soul in the blood. But there was this lazy, green eyed flower who'd seduced him finding his soul again, seduced him into a second chance at life, and beyond this door, that flower suffered. It was like walking into his own execution.

For his green eyed flower, he'd walk into Hell. His hand fell away from the door and he stood two steps in, watching medical people and equipment he didn't understand, bright lights and a struggling body, pale and bloody. Aya ran, moving the nurse by Youji's head with both hands. "Youji! Youji, I'm here."

"Aya?" Youji said, licking chapped lips. "Where are you?"

"Here," Aya said, leaning closer, tender fingers turning Youji's face so their eyes locked together. "I'm here."

"I thought you were dead." Youji said, tears tracing Aya's thumb.

"As long as you're alive, so will I be," Aya said, slipping poetic because of the safety he felt when talking to Youji. "Relax, Honey. Let the doctors do what they need to do."

Youji's voice went small, green eyes wide with a childish innocence that scared Aya. "They're touching me. It hurts."

"Look at me, look into my eyes," Aya said, sitting down on the stool that had just been pushed up behind him. "I'll stay here with you and it will be over soon."

"I don't want to die," Youji said, moving his head closer to Aya. "Where are we?"

"Hospital," Aya said, thumb sliding over Youji's eyelashes, a very slight smile offered as comfort. "You've been drugged. When that wears off, things will make more sense."

"Will you still love me?" Youji asked.

Aya leaned forward till the tip of his nose touched Youji's. Whispering, because it was private, so very private, "I will love you and if you forget that, I will remind you again."

Some evils are gray.

Some goods are gray.

Some souls heal even as they are extinguished.

Some hungers are never eased.

These are the shadows that linger at the edge of humanity's nightmares, the demons that hunt our thoughts and revel in our cruelties.

Rosenkruez liked demons, darkness, power, psychics, and they liked immortals. Manira with golden hair and blue eyes a summer vacation sky, perfect and free, with lips that smiled so shyly. They believed Manira to be immortal. Manira believed it.

Some powers should be left alone.

Manira rolled the earrings he'd taken from the blonde over his palm. Asuka's earrings. They carried the energy of so much love and guilt, so much shattered hope and longing. The mirror showed a beautiful young man, no more than twenty, twenty-two with not a drop of guilt or regret as he slipped Asuka's earrings into his own ears.

He did owe this Rosenkruez for waking him. There were so many innocent and delicious souls in this world. He smiled, watching his expression in the mirror, blue eyes blinking slowly, "But I love you, Youji. I love you so much." Love you like a perfect birthday cake before the party. "Don't cry, Youji. It will feel better soon."


	4. Chapter 4

Blood and Flowers

by Nix Winter

Disclaimer: I don't own WK.

Warnings: If you read this far, I don't think there's anything worse in this chapter

Youji gave the impression, when he was on his feet and giving off that aura that was Youji, that he was bigger than he was. Aya had thought that before. Youji was tall, and he could pull himself up tall, all blond hair and green eyes like a lion of a man, grace and power, and he looked like he was so tough that nothing could move him.

With his head resting on Aya's shoulder, his body held in Aya's arms, long legs close to Aya's body, he was light as a feather, so insubstantial, and Aya had to be careful not to hold him too tightly. He'd seen the bruising along Youji's pale body. His lover's chest rose with a deep breath as they crossed into the thick flower scented shop. He paused there, listening to Youji, to his breath, to his heartbeat even knowing it was too quiet, listening for any words that might come from his love.

Aya liked his poetry, turned to it to quiet his mind. Youji was a midnight blond iris, so graceful and elegant, the gilted blond that was there for all to see, and the deeper threads of hidden darkness. He could polish the gilt parts, and the more precious darkness would hide until the moonlight called it back. He pressed his cheek to Youji's forehead, caressing.

The drug's haze had lessened and Youji's fingers shook as they reached for Aya''s face, catching a red ear tail, "Caught you, Angel."

"Oh for god's sake, take him up stairs," Ken growled, angry, but concerned for both of them and only more irritated by that.

"We're home, Youji," Aya said, ignoring Ken, even as the command got him moving. Up the stairs, all twenty-four of them, up to the room they shared.

"Shower now," Youji said, firm.

"Yes, of course," Aya agreed. "Let me stay with you?"

And that was the wound. Someone had taken what they didn't wish to share, the safe place they'd found between each other, their sanctuary. And they both wanted to know

was

it

still

there

between them.

"Stay with me," Youji asked. That was the twenty-fourth stair, and Youji's fingers went behind Aya's head, caressing, comforting. "Please."

"I will stay with you," Aya said, emotion deepening his voice. "I will always stay with you."

"Let me walk," Youji asked, taking a deep breath.

Aya's arms tightened, holding his slender love closer, and then he let him down, lowering his legs slowly, one arm around his back, and Youji crumpled. Aya's arm around his back held him up right though and they waited.

Youji was stubborn and his body was not supposed to fail him. Aya was more tolerant than he'd let on, for those he loved and they could wait. Slowly, Youji moved, one step, body stiff, drug lingering.

Their room. They paused, Youji leaning against Aya, Aya's heart leaning on Youji's heart.

"I thought I was fucked, Aya," Youji admitted, as they stood there in the hall, door open, showing their big double bed that Aya had made neatly, Youji's work jeans over the chair that Aya read in. "It's like I'm looking at a postcard of someplace I wish I was going to be."

Aya didn't know what to say to that. He was more the kind to behead someone or scream that he would, or glare, but it was Youji's honest that had drawn him to the man in the first place. Even his gilt lion honesty. The perfect playboy happy lie that Youji lived was more honest than Aya saw other people. Youji knew how to draw his boundaries and he did what he needed to do. Trust, Aya trusted Youji to keep doing that, and that made it possible to feel this welling of love, warmth and hope and happiness. "I love you. I know we got our asses handed to us tonight, but I love you and I'm so damn happy to be holding you right now. Do you understand? I know you're in pain, and you're not saying. I know that bastard touched what wasn't his right to touch, and you know I'm going to kill him, but Youji, thank you for surviving and being here with me."

"Sure, Baby," Youji said, and there was a hint of gilt lion smile, cocky, and so genuine, so true to something that was Youji, even if Aya didn't really understand it. "Thank you for still wanting me. He head fucked me, Aya. I could hear you swearing you'd never touch me again, but," Youji said, head going light, knees unlocking, until Aya caught him up into his arms again, and carried him over the threshold. "I know you'd never say that."

Nuzzling Youji's hair, soaking in the scent of his shampoo and the hospital disinfectant, "And what would I say?"

"I'm going to kill you! If you were gonna go that way. Aya, I'm tired," the last was a confession, not weak, just the truth.

"We'll shower, then we'll sleep." Aya promised.

But Youji's strength was gone. He let Aya undress him, hiding his face against the chair wing. He let Aya carry him to their shower, and set the water, and hold him. It wasn't the water that washed him clean though. It was a stubborn and completely trustworthy red head. They would catch the killer. They would.

And when they slept, both as native as they always slept, entwined, unmasked against unmasked, their safe place existed for them still.


End file.
